Bloodlines: The Life and Times of Regina King
by katzesama
Summary: A Vampire retelling, clocked forward several years for technical reasons. Gina King was your average young woman until that strange night when some freak decided to hit her with his car... yeah, things got a little weird after that.


People are afraid to die. I'm not stating this as an opinion- it's a fact. As a person who has looked death in the face, I can honestly tell you that. It's a sort of fear all of humanity seems indisposed to. The last thing I remember is the lights coming towards me, the sickening crunch of my bones snapping, and excruciating pain before my world went black.

My name is Regina King and I died on October 10, 2010.

Before I died, I was your average 25 year old woman. Well, I suppose I was more like Bridget Jones than just your run-of-the-mill executive, but there you go. I was pretty much married to my job and what fun I _did_ have was few and far between.

I'm getting off-track. The whole point I'm trying to make is that my death was untimely. The catch is that it wasn't an accident, either, I know that for certain. How? Because after I "died," I woke up a day later and the first thing I saw was the asshole who ran me over. I remember him fairly well: striking with dark hair and brown eyes, but unusually pale. I blacked out again after that, and I remember waking up in that theater. That's where my story really starts.

I was on my knees, hands bound, and looking out at an almost deserted auditorium. The theater looked a little shabbier back then, dark and in a state of minor disrepair with seats that desperately needed to be reupholstered. I remember very little from my first few minutes of consciousness, as I was in a bit of a fog, and I didn't dare look up from the floor. There was a man waltzing around on the stage, a man I would come to know very well in the next few weeks, prattling on to the few people in the auditorium. Whatever he was talking about for those first few minutes, I don't remember. I wasn't paying attention.

When I finally worked up the nerve to actually look around, the first thing I saw was that asshole who hit me with his car. He seemed to be in the same predicament I was in, but he was looking out towards the auditorium. I remember that detail very well. He was staring into the distance proud and defiant, and I felt a twinge of respect for him (even though he _had _hit me with his car). The man who'd been speaking came to a stop in front of my companion on the ground.

He knelt down and made eye contact with my companion, telling him something I didn't catch before straightening back up. He made a gesture to another, much larger man and walked back to the center of the stage.

Then my companion lost his head. Literally.

The larger man decapitated him in one swing, but there was no blood. The minute the head was completely separated from my companion, he turned to ash and settled in a small pile on the floor. I stared at it, awestruck, before the pit settled in my stomach. A sense of panic washed over me as I stared at the little gray pile on the floor with one definite realization: I was going to die. Remember what I said about people being afraid to die? It just so happens to apply to undead ones, too.

I looked up at the man in the center of the stage, eyes wide with fear and a scream caught in my throat. He was a shorter man as well as blond, but there was a sort of dominating presence that seemed to eminate from him that made me feel incredibly uneasy. I would come to know him as Sebastian LaCroix, Prince of Los Angeles, but that isn't important 'til much later.

In my newfound state of panic, I started to pay attention to what was going on, seeing as it was my life that was on the line. LaCroix cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the observers.

"...Which leaves the matter of the ill begotten progeny," he stated. "Without a Sire, most Childer are doomed to walk the earth never knowing their place, their responsibility and, most importantly, the laws they must obey."

He glanced back at me, as if to appear thoughtful to the crowd, but I remember his expression was cold and unfeeling. His face may as well have been carved from ice. Turning back to the small assembly again, he continued:

"Therefore, I have decided that-"

"THIS IS BULLSHIT!"

I felt the scream in my throat change to air and my eyes snap in the direction of the voice that had spoken out. The man who had called LaCroix out was Hispanic and sort of burly with short dark hair. The poor lighting in the theater made it hard to see his face, as well as the fact that I was in a slightly inebriated state. Murmurs echoed through the audience and I saw LaCroix hesitate.

"If Mr. Rodriguez would let me finish," he said after a moment. "I have decided to let this Kindred live."

I was promptly dragged backstage into a side hallway. The rope binding my wrists was removed and I was yanked to my feet. A minute or two later, LaCroix walked into the hallway. He looked me over and frowned slightly as if he was trying to show concern. It just looked like he was thinking really hard.

"Your Sire- tragic, my apologies," he said briskly. "You must understand, Miss, uh..."

"King. Regina King."

"King," he finished. "Please understand that there are certain rules we must..." He paused, thinking hard again for the right word. "...Must _adhere _to, if we wish to survive."

I shrugged. I could understand that, but I didn't like that the rules had almost gotten me killed. He strode off down the hall and I did my best to follow him. I was still a little wobbly and he walked fast for a short man. He continued to talk.

"When someone- _anyone_- breaks these laws, they undermine the well-worn fabric of our centuries old society."

He sounded like my college Sociology professor. He used to lecture and prattle on like that, too. LaCroix liked to listen to himself talk.

"Understand my predicament, Miss King. Allowing you to live makes me directly responsible for your subsequent behavior."

So he'd basically told me that I was unwanted baggage. I remember thinking that he was such a charmer and that it was a wonder he wasn't married. I'd known him for two minutes and already I wanted to wipe that smirk off of his face.

He stopped short at the end of the small hallway backstage and pivoted on his heel to face me. I vaguely remember skidding to a halt and almost falling flat on my face.

"This," he said, "Is your trial. You will be brought to Santa Monica where you will meet up with an agent by the name of Mercurio who will disclose the details of your labor."

Find Mercurio, run an errand, blah blah blah. It sounded simple enough, but the man _still_wasn't finished. LaCroix was one of those people who talked just to hear the sound of their own voice.

"Prove to me that this was not a wasted gesture, fledgling," he told me, his tone ringing with a sort of finality. "Don't come back until you do."

And without another word, LaCroix strode past me and back down the hall off to do God knows what, leaving me alone.

Alone and scared with a new body that wasn't mine.

Not really knowing what else to do, I left the building through the door at the very end of the hall and wound up in an alleyway behind the theater. I figured there was probably a car or something that LaCroix would've called for me, but I wasn't really sure. I was still trying to process exactly what had happened.

That's when I heard the laughter.

Spinning around I found myself looking at a rather disheveled character. His hair was long and wiry (his beard was, too) and it looked to me as if the guy hadn't bathed in months. His skin was dark with an olive tint to it, and his eyes were a shade of gold. Not hazel- _gold_.

He grinned at me and threw his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out.

"What a scene man!" he laughed.

I stared at him, fairly confused, waiting for his laughter to die down and fade. It did after a few moments and he shook his head in an almost condescending manner.

"And then they just plop you out here like a naked baby in the woods," he said, that mad grin still on his face. "Classic."

I blinked once, twice, three times before I managed to say anything.

"What in God's name are you on about?"

"You know, that deal with the suit and Magilla Gorilla?" he asked rhetorically. "The guys who put your sire to death?"

I continued to stare blankly at him and the man heaved a sigh.

"You have no fuckin' clue what I'm talking about, do you Princess?"

I shook my head and he started to laugh again.

"Damn, James!" he roared. "You turn the girl and don't even bother to tell her what she is!"

He shook his head one more time before he managed to stop laughing and catch his breath.

"Who are you?" I asked again.

"Name's Jack," he continued, "But what's more important is I'm offering help. Now listen Princess, let me give you the basics before you head off for God-knows-where LaCroix is dumpin' you."

"Basics for what?"

"Survival. As if being human alone wasn't hard enough, now you're as much a beast as lions down at the zoo."

That took me by surprise. I still had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn't sound good.

"Beast?" I choked out.

He nodded.

"Welcome to the underworld, kiddo! Looks just like the regular one."

I gave him a confused enough look that he continued on to indulge me.

"Land of the Dead, Princess," he explained. "You _do _know what an underworld is, right?"

That's when it dawned on me. I held up my hands and examined them, noting that my skin was at least two shades paler than it normally was and that I couldn't feel my heart beating. I swallowed and shook my head frantically.

"No... no, there's no way I can be dead..." I squeaked.

"_Un_dead," corrected Jack. "But don't worry- there are fringe benefits to joining the club, believe me."

"Benefits?" I echoed dreamily, still preoccupied with the fact that I was dead.

"Yeah!" said Jack. "You're faster, stronger, and, if you play your cards right, you've got a shot at eternal life."

I nodded slowly and swallowed again before looking up at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Just as it sounds, kiddo. 'Course, this means you don't go around lifting dumpsters or outrunning the 8:15 to Sacramento," he replied, bored. "You're a vampire- great, congrats. Keep it to yourself."

I frowned.

"Now you're just fucking with me," I deadpanned. "Vampires aren't-"

"How else d'you explain the fact that you're still up and walkin' Princess?"

I had to give him that. However impossible the situation seemed, it was as good an explanation as any. It also made the most sense.

Heaving a sigh, I admitted defeat.

"Okay, all mighty guru," I said. "You win."

"Huh." Jack sounded mildly surprised. "You're taking this really well."

I shrugged half-heartedly and ran a hand through my hair.

"I'm not stupid. When the probable and improbable are wrong, then the impossible's left over," I replied. "You say I'm a vampire; that's as good an explanation as any."

He grinned again, and clapped me on the shoulder.

"I like you, Princess. You got a name?"

"...Regina," I replied after a moment. "My name's Regina."

"Regina," he echoed, as if he was trying to decide if it fit me or not. Nodding out towards the street, he continued, "Take a walk with me, Princess. I'll tell you what you need to know."


End file.
